WEMon – Final Email

Greg’s prompt this week had to do with using superiority as a tool for humour, and wanted responses based on self-deprecation. As I mentioned in my last post, I am buried elbow-deep in Christmas, so am recycling old work as challenge responses. This post is actually the group email I sent out to my workmates, when I was made redundant earlier this year. It was very much tongue in cheek to a group of people I had come to know well. Names have been changed to protect the guilty. You may need to read deeply between the lines for the self-deprecation part, but it is there.

Gidday.

In the tradition of those who have been arsecanned from Acme are moving on from Acme Corp to greener pastures, this is my final group email. I have also decided to write it like I would say it. Those who have spoken to me will know now to avert their eyes.

Anyway, based on questions you guys have asked over the last few years, here is a handy first-level troubleshooting FAQ to keep you going:

My laptop won’t behave. I can’t see my files/desktop/network/porn. What do I do?
Reboot the little beggar.

The wireless isn’t working. What should I do?
Get up into the ceiling where the access point is, and reboot the little beggar

I seem to have pulled out my network cable. What should I do?
What do you think? Get under the desk and replug the little beggar.

My desk phone isn’t working. I can’t answer calls/make calls/call 0900 numbers. What do I do?
Reboot the little beggar.

I’ve lost the email/contact list/calendar/downloaded porn on my mobile phone. What do I do?
Reboot the little beggar.

My monitor flickers/shows weird colours/is too bright/is too dark/won’t play my adult videos. What do I do?
Reboot the little beggar.

The boardroom AV flickers/shows weird colours/is too bright/is too dark/won’t play my adult videos. What do I do?
Call Connect NZ and wait a month for them to answer. Otherwise, reboot the little beggar.

My laptop died and I’ve lost all my files. What do I do?
Do you make your backups?
No.
Well, you’re stuffed then.
Can’t you recover them, somehow?
No. Go away.

My co-worker is irritating me. What do I do?
Reboot the little beggar.

The lights/fridges/coffee machines in the lunchroom aren’t working. What do I do?
Go into the electrical closet, find a switch that looks like it won’t kill you, and reboot the little beggar.

I’ve lost access to Z drive/the printer/POS/voice calls. What do I do?
Go into the server room, pick one of the pretty little lights in there, and reboot the little beggar. You’ve got about a one in twenty chance of choosing the right one. Those odds are better than Lotto.

Somebody has messed with the cables in the sound room. What do I do?
How the hell do I know? Go ask Tuki.

The microwave is on the blink again. What do I do?
It’s your own fault for slamming the door too hard. Eat your lunch cold.

The dishwasher isn’t washing things properly again. What do I do?
Well, maybe you ought to rinse your stuff first. Here’s a rule of thumb: if there’s enough DNA left on the plate to clone whatever you just ate, stick it under the tap before putting it in the dishwasher.

If none of these work, then you will need to contact the Regional Helpdesk which, let’s face it, is what you should have been doing for the last three-odd years anyway. Maybe if you did, I’d still have a job. You can email them at helpdesk.anz@acme.com, or you can call them on extension 7298, or on 09 555 1234.

Just don’t freaking well call me.

Regards,
Pat Moore.
(former) Network Administrator

WEMon – Fun Facts

In this week’s Monday Humour challenge, Greg would like us to use exaggeration as a tool. Fair enough. He also said steal an idea, and as you read on you’ll see I stole a fair few of ‘em.

To start, I would like you to take a small test. Below are three interesting facts; your job is to decide which one is not true:

Fact #1: Page Three glamour model Katie Price has released no less than five autobiographies.
Fact #2: There are a total of one billion bacteria hitching a ride on and in your body.
Fact #3: I was named 2006 Person of the Year by TIME magazine.

Bing! Your time is up. Did you guess the fake fact? Of course you did. It is fact #2.

As any microbiologist will tell you, there aren’t a total of one billion bacteria on you right now. The true total is closer to… 100 trillion. Yep, you read that right. In fact, every square inch of your skin is home to 32 million of them.

Yuck.

And that is where I see a slight problem with this week’s prompt. For exaggeration to work as a tool for humour, it must be patently ridiculous. Yet for every silly exaggeration you can think of there will be a fact ten times as ridiculous.

Here’s another: there are over one and a half billion US $5 bills in circulation right now. Eighty percent will have traces of cocaine on them, and thirty percent will have, at some time in their lives, been stuffed into a stripper’s G-string. You might want to remember that, when handing your little darlings their weekly pocket money.

So sure, I could employ exaggeration to comical effect in this post.  I could tell you for example, about the hottest temperature ever recorded on earth: 7.2 trillion degrees Farenheit or, to put it another way, just a little bit hotter than the filling of your average McDonalds apple pie.

I could also tell you that the average 4-year-old asks 400 questions a day, which is why one of the first things I taught my daughter to do was to Google.

But I’m lazy. I don’t want to think up comic exaggerations, and real facts don’t require them. The human condition can serve up enough laughs all on its own, for example:

• More than 2500 left handed people are killed each year, using equipment made for right-handers.
• Vending machines kill four times more people per year than sharks do.
• 58% of British teenagers think Sherlock Holmes was a real person, and Winston Churchill was not.
• 55,000 people in the US are injured by jewellery each year, while 33,000 are injured on the toilet.
• Six percent of Americans believe in unicorns.

Or how about these oddities from the natural world:

• The total weight of all the ants on the earth is greater than that of all humans.
• A mouse can fit through a hole the size of a ballpoint pen.
• Humans share 50% of their DNA with bananas.

Seems like nobody has a bigger sense of humour than Mother Nature.

* Oh, and yes, I was named 2006 TIME magazine Person of the Year. So were you, your spouse, your children, your idiot cousin, and anybody else who so much as posted on Facebook or commented on an online forum. TIME magazine pretty much phoned it in that year.

The Bridge, the City, and Me.

Len’s challenge: write about stupidity you’ve encountered in government or business
This is based on actual events. I was indeed pursued in error three times by Auckland City over an incident on Grafton Bridge. My response described here however, is leavened by a good deal of artistic license.

~~

 

Traffic Infringement Bureau,
Private Bag 1022, Symonds Street,
Auckland 1011

 Mr Gregory Berendson,
64 Roanoake Street,
Te Atatu North,
Auckland 0644

Dear Mr Berendson,

Traffic Infringement Number 10440902.

A 1995 Nissan Skyline registration VX1097, registered to you, was photographed driving on Grafton bridge at 3.43pm on Friday 6 February 2009. This is an offence under the Auckland Transport Act 2006, as Grafton Bridge is designated as a pedestrian and busway only.

This offence carries a fine of $150. You have 28 days to make payment.

If were not the driver, or if you wish to contest this notice or request a copy of the photographic evidence, you may contact the Traffic Infringement Bureau on 09 367 1010, or visit auckland.govt.nz/infringements and complete the web form.

Otherwise, payment may be made at any branch of the Westpac bank.

Sincerely,
John Smith
Infringements Officer.

~~

From: Pat Moore (patfm@swing.net.nz)
To: trafficenforcement@auckland.govt.nz
Subject: TIN10440902

Dear Mr Smith,

Please be advised that Mr Berendson has not lived at 64 Roanoake Street for over two years. His forwarding address is 27 Tutanekai Ave, New Lynn, Auckland 4141.

Could you please update your records.

With kind regards,
Pat Moore.

~~

Traffic Infringement Bureau,
Private Bag 1022, Symonds Street,
Auckland 1011

 Mr Pat Moore,
64 Roanoake Street,
Te Atatu North,
Auckland 0644

Dear Mr Moore,

Traffic Infringement Number 10440902.

A 1995 Nissan Skyline registration VX1097, registered to you, was photographed driving on Grafton bridge at 3.43pm on Friday 6 February 2009. This is an offence under the Auckland Transport Act 2006, as Grafton Bridge is designated as a pedestrian and busway only.

This is the second notice of the offence. It carries a fine of $150. You now have 20 days to make payment. If you wish to request a copy of the photographic evidence, you may contact the Traffic Infringement Bureau on 09 367 1010.

Sincerely,
Albert Jones
Senior Infringements Officer.

~~

From: Pat Moore (patfm@swing.net.nz)
To: trafficenforcement@auckland.govt.nz
Subject: FW: TIN10440902

Dear Mr Jones.

With regards to the above, there seems to be some confusion. If you check your records, you will see that the owner of the Nissan in question is Mr Gregory Berendson. I contacted you to advise his correct address, and all you have done is change his name to mine.

Please update your records correctly this time, and stop bothering me.

With regards,
Pat Moore.

~~

From: trafficenforcement@auckland.govt.nz
To: Pat Moore
Subject: FW: RE: TIN10440902

Dear Mr Moore,

Could you please advise the registration details for your car, so we may keep our records correct and bring this matter to a close.

Thanks and regards,
Albert Jones.

~~

From: Pat Moore (patfm@swing.net.nz)
To: trafficenforcement@auckland.govt.nz
Subject: RE: FW: RE: TIN10440902

I fail to see how my car registration is relevant to this conversation, however I drive a 1992 Toyota Corolla, registration RS3461.

Regards,
Pat Moore.

~~

Traffic Infringement Bureau,
Private Bag 1022, Symonds Street,
Auckland 1011

 Mr Pat Moore,

64 Roanoake Street,
Te Atatu North,
Auckland 0644

Dear Mr Moore,

Traffic Infringement Number 10440902.

A 1992 Toyota Corolla registration RS3461, registered to you, was photographed driving on Grafton bridge at 3.43pm on Friday 6 February 2009. This is an offence under the Auckland Transport Act 2006, as Grafton Bridge is designated as a pedestrian and busway only.

This is the third notice of the offence. It carries a fine of $150. You now have 12 days to make payment. If you wish to request a copy of the photographic evidence, you may contact the Traffic Infringement Bureau on 09 367 1010.

Sincerely,

Gordon Grant

Chief Infringements Officer.

~~

From: Pat Moore (patfm@swing.net.nz)
To: trafficenforcement@auckland.govt.nz
Subject: TIN10440902

Dear Mr Grant,

Are you kidding me? Just send me a copy of the goddamned photo.

With no regards at all,

Pat Moore.

~~

Traffic Infringement Bureau,
Private Bag 1022, Symonds Street,
Auckland 1011

 Mr Pat Moore,
64 Roanoake Street,
Te Atatu North,
Auckland 0644

Dear Mr Moore,

Traffic Infringement Number 10440902.

Please find enclosed a copy of the photo, as requested. As you will see, our records are quite clear that you were driving on Grafton Bridge at 3.43pm on Friday 6 February 2009.

This is the fourth and final notice of this offence. It carries a fine of $150. You now have eight days to make payment.

Sincerely,
Gordon Grant
Chief Infringements Officer.

~~

Mr Pat Moore,
64 Roanoake Street,
Te Atatu North,
Auckland 0644

Mr Gordon Grant,
Traffic Infringement Bureau,
Private Bag 1022, Symonds Street,
Auckland 1011.

Dear Mr Grant,

Traffic Infringement Number 10440902.

Please refer to the many communications between us thus far. You will find them attached. Go on, take a moment and look. I’ll wait.

Have you finished? Good. Because I don’t care what your records show, Mr Grant. I was nowhere near Grafton Bridge at 3.43pm on Friday 6 February 2009. Do you want to know why? Because I was actually at your house, in bed with your wife.

I didn’t want to be in bed with your wife, but I had no choice. You see, her records stated that I was supposed to be in bed with her at that time, and she had the correct form, in triplicate, notarised and signed. You know how it is, Mr Grant. You can’t argue with the paperwork, so there I was.

Apropos of that please excuse the handcuff marks on your bed frame, and you really should look at fixing that chipped paint on the bedroom ceiling.

I have been advised by your wife that her records show we are due for a follow-up appointment next Thursday. If you require a copy of the photographic evidence, please contact me on my email address and I will be happy to oblige.

Alternatively, perhaps you could take five minutes to review the events that have led us to this point, finally and correctly adjust your records, and get the hell out of my life. Your Traffic Infringement team are a bunch of soulless bureaucrats who make a conference of Chartered Accountants look like a flat-full of Scarfies during capping week. **

~~

Traffic Infringement Bureau,
Private Bag 1022, Symonds Street,
Auckland 1011

 Mr Pat Moore,
64 Roanoake Street,
Te Atatu North,
Auckland 0644

Dear Mr Moore,

Traffic Infringement Number 10440902.

With regards to your previous communications, we are pleased to advise you that this matter has been reviewed, and we will no longer be pursuing you for this payment.

Thank you for your patience in this matter.

Sincerely,
Gordon Grant
Chief Infringements Officer.

P.S. On a personal note, my wife says you were a lousy lay.

 

** for non Enzed readers, instead of  the scarfies reference please read ” a frat house on spring break.”
Cheers

Death By Tech

I started this as an entry into Greg’s MWE prompt about the clash between man and machine. Now, nearly two months later, I am completing it for his prompt about workplace stories. I may be slow, but at least I’m adaptable.

I have worked with computers and users for over two decades now, and am fully familiar with the terms PEBKAC and ID10T. This is easy to understand: users are physically and rationally imprecise, they are emotional and they have brains that run the fuzziest of fuzzy logic. Computers on the other hand are smaller, harder-edged and far more consistent. They are also just machines. So when a user appears at my desk to complain about how their little bit of plastic and metal is bent on sabotaging their day, I remind them that in that particular battle of wills, their antagonist has no more sentience than a Rubik’s cube.

Users. To us technical helpdesk staffers that word is both a noun and an epithet.

But one day changed all that. That day I found myself engaged in just such a battle, and thinking just like a user, in what I call The Case of the Suicidal Computer.

The computer in question belonged to Bob in Accounts. Bob in Accounts was one of my worst users. If dealing with users can be compared to Dante’s Inferno — and I believe it can — then Bob is right down there in the seventh circle with the violent and the blasphemers. He is the sort who can break a computer just by looking at it. As a result Bob had been issued with one of the oldest computers we have and he was only a couple of sins away from getting it replaced with a pen and paper.

One day I got a call from Bob. “My damn computer’s broke.”

“What is wrong with it?”

“I dunno. It’s broke.” And that was all the information I was going to get.

I made my way to his desk. Sure enough the screen was frozen solid and nothing short of a reboot was going to get it moving again. I could see the smeared imprints of Bob’s attempts at repair on the monitor and case.

“Damn thing’s done that to me three times already this morning!” Bob spat, jabbing at the keyboard.
There was no fixing it there, so I brought him a spare and took his one back to my desk.

I rebooted. I reset. I reconfigured. I uninstalled and reinstalled. I measured everything that could be measured and replaced everything that could be replaced. I also cleaned everything that could be cleaned and a few things that shouldn’t. I consulted user manuals. I consulted colleagues. I consulted FAQs. In short, I tried everything I knew.

I also swore. Copiously. Longer and louder and harder with every failed attempt. By mid-afternoon I had a lexicon that would make a sailor blush.

For its part it responded by wheezing, whining, bluescreening and stuttering. It froze up faster than my wife when I tell her I’m working over the weekend. For every problem fixed, a new one appeared. Then, just before it jammed for the fifteenth time, and as I stared at the hyperlink icon — you know the one, that little hand with the pointing finger — the monitor flickered, and I swear it flipped me the bird.

I ground the power button into the panel with my thumb, and as I did so it gave a tiny mechanical chuckle as it wound down into silence.

And that little sound made me take a step back and think. It was time perhaps, to listen to Bob’s computer rather than fight it.

Even Bob was not capable of screwing things up this badly. Too many things were broken too completely. So it dawned on me: this computer, this little box of plastic and metal, knew that repair meant being returned to Bob. It had endured months under his gentle care and was adamant never to return. So it was fighting me to the bitter end. It had contemplated life with Bob or suicide by tech, and had decided that death was the better option.

So I decided to grant it this last request. I owed it that much. The spare computer would meet all of Bob’s needs without rewarding his incompetence, so I filled in the requisite forms to retire his old one from service, solemnly took it out to the car park, and smashed it with a sledgehammer.

(GWE Challenge 19 May) Dear Diary

On 19 May, Greg posted a GWE challenge The Voice of the Voiceless. This is my response.

————

Dear Diary,

This is my first entry, the first of many, I hope. I feel the need to get down in words the pain I feel, every day being mistreated, abused and ignored.

I used to be an elegant chair… no, not just a chair but an armchair! I had pride of place in the lounge, the preferred rest of Mr Smith and the most important of family and guests. Oh, how long ago that was, and how soon they forget! Now I am in the rumpus, I am torn and soiled, lumpen and damp, orphaned of my friends the sofa and the ottoman, and relegated to the corner to cover the stain on the floor.

Now I am the plaything of Timmy and Sue and Rufus; jumped on, eaten on and spilled on. Sue sneaks sweets from the kitchen and eats them from behind the cover of my arms, wiping sticky hands on my back. Timmy jumps on me like a trampoline, and drapes bedsheets from me to play at forts, setting Rufus to guard the door, and when Rufus isn’t a guard he sleeps on me, leaving drool and dog hair everywhere. And when Uncle Toby fell asleep on me after Sunday lunch last, he caused such a smell it was as though the bowels of Beelzebub himself had opened!

I have not felt the touch of the vacuum cleaner in months, and my cushions itch with stickiness. The sun has bleached my shoulder dry, and my feet and legs are damp with mould and god-knows-what hidden and forgotten by the children underneath my valance.

Is this what I get for years of faithful service? Are people that callous and cruel? What have I done to deserve such treatment? Oh! The tribulations of a chair with a soul!

Fear not, dear diary. I shall be back! My masters must be made aware of the crimes they and theirs perpetrate upon me! Farewell for now.

~~

Diary note to self: find out how the hell that melodramatic, malodorous miseryguts of a chair managed to pick up a bloody pen and write in me.